Taking the Wrong Turn

It’s true what they say about other senses taking over, she’d never seen such blackness or been so blind.

The disgusting cologne he wore permeated the entire car making her gag on the duct tape he’d pulled across her face stifling her screams, and in an instant he’d thrown her to the ground, hog-tying her faster than cattle at a rodeo.

On high alert, she tried to memorize everything, the sounds, turns they made, the nubby carpet fibers, and prayed her searching fingertips would touch anything that might give her a chance.

She could tell when he’d turned off the main road by the way she rolled and bounced inside the trunk, the smell of pine, crunch of gravel, and the dead quiet of the night.

A sickening wave of terror rushed through her as the car slowed, the tape tightened as she struggled and clawed at the darkness, her fingers finally brushing against the edge of something, his shovel, damp from the night soil, and she called out, “Please God, help me.”